Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology (8 page)

* * *

The next morning, Lara burst into the workshop where Elena was working on half-finished projects in preparation for her days away.
 

“I haven't seen you since Wednesday,” she said, her wiry body wrapping Elena in a much-needed hug. “What happened?”

Elena groaned. “Let's just say I'm not going to listen to your dares again.”

“Yeah, right.” Lara laughed. “You can't say no. So what happened?”

“Well, my aunt saw the flower.”

“Oh, no.”

“Exactly. She asked where I got it, and I couldn't lie, so she told me I had to offer to work for the witch in exchange.”

“I guess that's typical.” Lara picked up a scrap of tin and fiddled with it as she spoke. “You don't have to listen to her, you know. You're twenty-three. She's not your guardian.”

“Yeah, but she's right.” Elena shrugged. She grabbed a handful of measuring tools and put them in a box on the shelf. “And if I didn't agree, she could have taken it to the town council. Not that she threatened to do that. But they would have insisted on the same work anyway.”

“True. So did you go?” Her voice rose in anticipation.

“I went. She accepted my offer, so I'm going up there starting Monday morning.”

“I'll be here Monday evening ready to hear all about it.” Lara grinned.

Elena sat down with a partially-engraved bowl, her most recent project, and began detailing the edges. “Well, I won't be here Monday evening. I'm staying with Ana— with the witch during the week.”

Lara hadn't noticed the slip. She dropped the tin she'd been playing with. “You're joking.”

“No.” She didn't look up, focusing on her engraving. “It's more practical than walking all the way there every morning and back every night.”

“You're going to stay in the witch's house?” Her incredulity made her voice rise. Just then, Cal entered. Short and stocky, ne sported a pale blue jumper and a very recent pixie cut.
 

“I must have missed something,” ne said. “Elena's doing what now?”

“Sleeping at the witch's house!” Lara burst in before Elena could answer. She proceeded to relay the entire story to Cal, embellishing the parts she hadn't been present for. Occasionally, Elena corrected her, but it didn't matter. The story would end up much larger than it had begun regardless.

“So,” Cal said, nodding slowly. “You're going to spend all week with the witch. The one who brought the drought. The one who doesn't help the rest of the townspeople even though she lives at the edge of town. The one who doesn't share the food from her garden. The one who owns an actual dragon and has a fence around her land.”

Elena sighed. “Yes, that witch. We don't know she's the cause of the drought, though.”

“Are you serious?”

“Well, she seemed nice. I don't know.”

“El, you know better than that. Everyone does. The timing was pretty perfect, don't you think? And if it wasn't her, wouldn't she have come into town to meet people and dispel the rumors?” Cal sat down on the table.

“Get down from there before my aunt comes in and sees,” Elena hissed.

“Fine.” Ne hopped down. “But my point stands. You'd better watch yourself or something might happen.”

“She's not going to hurt Elena,” Lara said. “Even a witch wouldn't do that, not so blatantly.”

Cal raised nir hands in mock surrender. “Whatever you say. But if El doesn't come home one Friday night, well. I'll be out looking for you but I won't be surprised.”

“Thanks, Cal. You're such a comfort.” Elena rolled her eyes. “Now both of you, out. I have work to do.”
 

* * *

Early Monday morning, Elena knocked on the same tall wooden door, which only looked slightly less intimidating this time around. It swung open to reveal Anabel, dressed in wrinkled tan farming clothes.
 

“Good, you're here.” She grinned. “Come on through, and please ignore the mess. Leave your bag by the door.” Elena dropped her duffel bag and followed Anabel through the living room and out the back door. She was used to people claiming their houses were a mess when they weren't, but Anabel hadn't been kidding. There were knick-knacks and blankets scattered around the room, stacks of dishes on the coffee table, and what looked like clean laundry on the couch. The house was brightly lit and airy, though, which made the mess not seem so bad.

The back garden was populated entirely with vegetables, as far as Elena could tell. Corn stalks stretched high towards the summer sun. Onions and peppers lined the next rows, and after that, she lost track of what was what. The witch led her to a shed and handed her a wooden-handled shovel.

“I need to plant some more seeds here,” she said, gesturing. “Turn the soil over, a few rows wide.” She walked off towards the house without another word.

Elena stared. Helpful. She'd done very little work with the earth, focusing her studies and now her apprenticeship on pottery and metalwork, anything she could do with her hands, so long as it was inside. She hadn't so much as tended an herb garden before.

Hesitantly, she stuck the shovel in the ground, bending halfway over to push it into the hard, dry earth. When she lifted the shovelful of dirt to turn it, half of it flew off the shovel from the force of movement. She groaned. Her second attempt didn't bring more than a handful of dirt out of the ground at all, and as she was gritting her teeth for a third try, she heard laughter from behind her. She turned.

“I'm sorry,” Anabel said, covering her mouth. “I didn't realize.”

“Didn't realize what?” Elena asked, her tone more prideful than she'd intended. “I'm fine here.” She sighed.
Smooth move, El
,
she thought.

The witch grinned openly now. “Are you?”

“I—” Elena looked down at the shovel. “No.”

“That's what I thought. I didn't realize you hadn't done this kind of work before. Here, let me show you.” She took the shovel from Elena's hands and expertly drove it into the soil, using her foot as leverage. When Elena had finished turning the first row of soil under Anabel's watchful eye, the witch nodded.
 

“Better. Much better. Now come over here, let me show you how to plant the seeds.” They spent the morning kneeling in the dirt beside one another, crawling along the rows of plants. Anabel pointed out the difference between intentional plants and harmful weeds and showed Elena how to pull the dead leaves from a plant to help it thrive.
 

Planting new seeds was the most exciting part, Elena found. The entirety of life was contained within the handful of seeds she carefully pressed into the soil, mirroring the movements of Anabel's hands beside hers.
 

“These are going to be flowers,” the witch had said.

“I thought this garden was for vegetables.”

“Not always. These aren't edible for us, but they're good for the bees. We can't plant just for ourselves. Our lives would never flourish.”
 

Elena nodded. This was the kind of rhetoric she'd heard her whole life: the importance of loving the Earth that she might return that love. It made more sense here, on her knees and up to her elbows in dirt, than it ever had in a classroom or at her parents' kitchen table.
 

When they'd patted down the last seeds into their new soil, the sun had risen high and hot, sending the women inside for lunch and a break from the pounding heat. The afternoon was spent on housework, tidying and making dinner under the welcome coolness of a clay roof.
 

After dinner, Anabel led Elena outside to the patio and gestured to a pair of chairs. “I know the sun sets just the same every night,” she said, “but still I watch it. It never fails to mesmerize me.”

Elena often found herself disappointed by sunsets, left only with bright spots behind her eyelids and a sense of something missing. As the last of the light faded, however, the stars that quietly made themselves known were more than worth it. She and Anabel laughed and talked, pointing out constellations, both traditional and invented on the spot.
 

As she scanned the sky, the breath caught in Elena's throat. Hesitantly, she pointed up. “There, do you see? Draco, the dragon.”

Anabel was silent.
 

“Do you see it? That bright star there, and those make the tail.”

“I see it.” She sighed. “I know what you're doing.”

Elena bowed her head. “I just wanted to know. Everyone's seen the dragon, you know? I haven't seen it since I got here, but I thought maybe you could tell me about it.”

“What is there to know? Yes, there's a dragon. As you say, everyone in town knows.” Anabel's voice was hushed to accommodate the quiet breathing of the desert night.

“I don't know. Is it your familiar?”

“Something like that.”

Elena hesitated. “You … are a witch, right?”

“Yes, Elena. I am.”
 

“Everyone thinks you're the reason for the drought.” She bit her lip. Yet another thing she shouldn't have said.

“They do, do they? Well, I suppose that's no surprise.” Anabel closed her eyes for a long moment. “Let's go inside. I'll show you your room.”
 

Quietly, a little shamefully, Elena followed.
 

* * *

By morning, all traces of their late-night conversation seemed forgotten. Elena woke to the rising sun outside her window, cleaned and dressed herself, then joined Anabel in the kitchen for breakfast.

“I'm sorry I wasn't much help yesterday,” Elena said as she sat. “It must've taken you more time to teach me than it would have to do it yourself.”

Anabel smiled, handing her a plate of toast. “You were plenty of help. And you'll learn to do things on your own. Just because it took a little instruction doesn't mean you won't learn in time.”

“Well, thank you, then.”
 

They spent all day in the garden, returning to the house only for lunch. The sun beat down relentlessly, but Anabel merely handed Elena a wide-brimmed hat and insisted they continue.
 

“All of these rows need to be weeded today,” she'd said. “And the corn will be ready to pick soon. It needs some water in the meantime.”
 

“We all do,” Elena laughed. After two years of drought, it was hard to find the thought of water anything but wryly amusing. Sure, they got rain in bursts every now and then, maybe every week or two. But it was never enough. The soil swallowed the water as quickly as it fell, and the plants barely stayed alive between rainstorms.
 

“Yes, well.” Anabel adjusted her hat. “We do what we can.”

Elena winced. Perhaps it was insensitive to talk the way she did about the drought. After only a day and a half, she was convinced Anabel couldn't be the reason for it. She was too kind, both to Elena and to the garden she tended. She couldn't possibly be keeping the rain away. But there was no way to ask without offending her yet again.
 

When dinnertime rolled around, Anabel untied her hat and wiped the sweat from her brow. “I'm going inside to clean up. Finish up this row and then come join me.”

Grateful for the slowly-sinking sun, Elena pulled a few more handfuls of weeds, dumped them in a bucket, and headed straight for her bathroom. There was never enough water to shower, at least not without guilt, but she wiped her face and hands with a washcloth, reveling in the cool water and the cooler touch of air on her damp face.
 

She came out to the kitchen and found a pile of vegetables, some of which were freshly picked, sitting on the counter. Anabel was nowhere to be found. With a shrug, Elena began to chop the vegetables. There was leftover rice from the night before, which she fried up in a large pan with eggs and the vegetables. The scent wafting from the stove was heavenly.

“Anabel,” she called out. No reply. The garden was just as empty as it had been when she left it. She even knocked on Anabel's bedroom door, but to no avail. Looking out the back door again, Elena began to worry. Where had she gone?
 

Out in the distance, across the fields, she could see the red dragon swooping low over the ground. If only it would come back, somehow show her where Anabel had gone. Unless, of course, they were out together, casting secret spells and perfecting this or that magic. Either way, she'd have to eat dinner alone.
 

“Would have been nice to have a little warning,” she muttered as she took her plate to the table. But perhaps that's what it would be like, living with a witch. Sometimes warm and domestic, sometimes chill and absent. At least she'd have a lot to tell her friends.

Elena ate her fried rice alone, put away the leftovers alone, washed the dishes alone. She kept waiting for the creak of the front door or the squeak of the back one, her ears tuned to the slightest sound. She sat on the patio to watch the stars alone, but the night wind was colder than she'd dressed for, and the darkness felt deeper and harder than it ever had before. She went back inside. She walked through the house once more to check for Anabel and then locked all the doors.

Late that night, a sound woke Elena—the back door, squeaking as it swung open and closed, followed by the slow groans of footsteps that someone is trying to keep silent. The footsteps passed her room and continued down the hall towards Anabel's room. Elena turned over, too tired to wonder at the hour, and slept.
 

The rising sun did not wake Elena as it had the day before. Instead, the sound of rain on the roof pulled her out of her dreams, and she smiled. Finally, the rain had come. There would be space to breathe for a few more days, space to laugh and plant and cook without worry.
 

She had made it all the way through her morning routine and halfway through breakfast before she began to wonder at Anabel's absence. She crept down the hall and pressed her ear to the door of the bedroom. Light snoring came from the other side. Elena sighed in relief. At least she was safe.
 

Despite the morning's soaking rain, she worked in the garden as best she could without guidance. Late that afternoon, she was struggling to glue together a broken ceramic pitcher that had been sitting on the kitchen counter when Anabel came into the room.